Hunger
by Nat Carter
Summary: A PWP of sorts. Harry and Ron hang out in a field. Slash, Harry/Ron


  
Title: Hunger  
Author: Natalia Carter  
Pairing: Harry/Ron  
Rating: PG-13 ish. They're not underage anymore.  
Feedback: Please, at nat_carter@m...  
Archive: Yes  
Disclaimer: Not mine, and I'm not sure I want Harry anyway.  
Warning: They're 16 or so. If it squicks you, you know where   
the 'delete' key is.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron Weasley held his broom at about five feet above the ground, and   
scanned the treetops. "Harry . . . where'd you go?"  
  
No answer from his friend. "Harry, come on . . . where did you go?"  
  
A burst of laughter from where the trees met the sky, and Harry   
Potter swooped down toward Ron. "Relax, Ron, I'm right here," as he   
flew circles around his friend.   
  
"Cut it out, Harry, that's not funny," Ron said irritably, landing   
his broom. "We should probably stop practicing now anyway, it's   
getting dark."   
  
Harry collected the tennis balls they had been throwing at each   
other, then dropped them and his broom in a heap on the ground. He   
snuck silently up behind Ron, then made a flying leap and tackled the   
other boy to the ground, laughing.   
  
"Harry! Get off!" But Ron was laughing also, issuing only token   
protests to his assault. Harry was warm against his body, squirming   
slightly to keep his balance as Ron tried to push him off. They   
wrestled for a moment, tumbling in the grass, mock-battling for   
control. Ron was slightly larger, and ended up the victor, pinning   
Harry to the ground.   
  
Harry smiled faintly. "You win, Ron," he murmured, something   
sparking in his eyes.   
  
He was bound to those eyes, tied to them. Ron couldn't look away.   
He swallowed heavily, letting Harry up quickly. But Harry didn't   
move, instead laying back in the grass, waving at Ron to join him.   
He settled into the grass beside Harry, trying not to think about how   
close Harry was, how deliciously close and so very far away.  
  
The first star was appearing on the horizon; Harry pointed to it with   
his pinky finger. "Look, Ron. There it is. Wish on it--maybe your   
wish'll come true."   
  
The star was barely bright enough to be seen, but Ron found it,   
closed his eyes, and sent his wish up to the heavens. It was a   
futile wish, he knew, but he figured if he was going to be so   
juvenile as to wish on a star, he might as well go ahead and make the   
wish really out there.  
  
When he opened his eyes, Harry was sitting up, leaning toward him.   
Ron felt left horribly vulnerable by Harry's smile. He returned one   
of his own.  
  
And his friend (his friend, his MALE friend! his mind called out a   
frenzied protest, you can't do this with a FRIEND, especially not a   
boy, especially not HARRY!) leaned down and kissed him, the briefest   
hesitant press of lips. Ron was shaking all over, barely able to   
breathe, barely able to look up. His eyes were shut, but not   
tightly, barely quivering shut.   
  
Harry pulled away, moving back just a fraction of a centimeter, close   
enough that Ron could still feel the other boy's breath on his lips,   
sense the heat radiating off his face. "Ron . . ." he whispered--no,   
breathed, too soft to be a whisper. Ron dared to open his eyes, met   
Harry's.  
  
"Harry, I . . ."  
  
"Yeah, I . . ."  
  
Ron swallowed heavily. "No screwing around, Harry."  
  
Harry shook his head. "No." The same, barely-there whisper. Harry   
kissed him again, harder this time, more insistant. "Always, Ron?"   
he asked, whispering against his friend's mouth. "Have you always   
felt this way?"  
  
Ron gave a tiny nod. "Always. Always, Harry."  
  
He felt Harry smile. "Good."  
  
After a moment, Harry scrambled to his feet. "C'mon, your mum   
probably has food ready for us." Ron was caught a little off-guard.  
  
"Food . . .?" Ron's imagination supplied images of strawberries and   
whipped cream, chocolate syrup . . . he shook his head violently.   
Harry no doubt meant more conventional food, such as steak and   
potatoes. But still . . . Ron grinned internally.  
  
Harry laughed. "Yes, food. We still have to eat." He turned back   
to Ron and smiled, holding out his hand.   
  
Ron clambered up, took Harry's hand, held it as they wandered off the   
field, through the woods and back to Ron's, toward the promise of   
food, the whole night, and the whole rest of their lives.  
  
(end)  



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